An Appalachian Trail Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the shelter, not a creature was stirring except for the mice.

The food bags were hung on the bear cables with care, in hopes that the mice would not go up there.

The hiker was nestled all snug in his sack, while the mice crept around seeking a snack.

When out by the privy there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my pad to see what was the matter.

Away to the fire pit I tripped once or twice, trying to not step on all those doggone mice.

Turned out it was nothing but a tree in the wind, making noises in the dark like the world turned on end.

Wearily back to the shelter I came, and waved at the mice and hollered at them by name.

“Now Hoover, now Dyson, now Dust Care and Snark! On Bissell, on Fuller, on Dirt Devil and Shark!
Find your crumbs elsewhere, there’s none in my gear. You can vacuum up tomorrow when I am not here.
Now get off of the porch and get out of the wall, let me rest a bit for for tomorrow’s long haul!”

The mice took flight at my gnashing of teeth, and fled the shelter to hide underneath.

Such is the night for a hiker on the trail, occupying the quiet with a Christmas mouse tale.

Merry Christmas.

See you on the high ground.

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Recovering infantryman. Appalachian Trail. Life is patches, not upgrades. Metalhead. Lazy mathematician. Political atheist. Nearly normal. Living at the intersection of necessity and free will. Getting run over...